


dare to move, dare to believe

by doctortwelfth



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e01 This Guilty Blood, Fluff, M/M, Second Kiss, slight AU, written before the episode aired so it's not really canon anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctortwelfth/pseuds/doctortwelfth
Summary: There’s a ring set with a pair of dull blue stones on Magnus’ index finger, and Alec carefully brings the smooth skin right beyond it to his mouth, placing a kiss there. It’s a small gesture, and yet it feels like the most dangerous thing he’s ever done; holding a match to a flame, hoping against hope that it will catch.Magnus and Alec, in the aftermath of the wedding. Of first love and second kisses.





	dare to move, dare to believe

**Author's Note:**

> so i found this in my drafts from nearly a year and a half ago, when we didn't have a second season yet and everyone was freaking out about promo pictures like [this](https://az852024.vo.msecnd.net/showms/shadowhunters/2016/284/d1ac985e-cadc-4cf8-82a6-3e98eaec80ad.jpg) one. coincidentally, that's also the photo this fic is based on. the events of the actual episode have long since de-canonized my take on it, but i thought it would be fun to share anyway!
> 
> title is from ruelle's where do we go from here, because i mention that scene here and it seemed thematically appropriate.

“I thought the Institute was on lockdown, Alexander.” Magnus speaks without turning away from the city-lit windows or setting down the mostly full glass of whiskey he’s fiddling with. It’s a little disconcerting, actually, that Magnus is aware of his presence, because Alec is sure he hasn’t made a sound when entering. 

 

“Well, yes,” he admits, expecting the inevitable sharp reprimand that he has learned to associate with disappointment (his mother’s disdainful voice,  _ I don’t even recognize you anymore _ , said with a hard mouth and averted eyes—it still hurts). But when it doesn’t come, he feels a fraction bolder and says, “I snuck out. There’s a gap in the back gate patrol.”

 

At that, Magnus does turn to face him, eyebrows arching up. “To see me?” He sounds surprised, and Alec wonders if he’s doing something wrong. 

 

“Yes,” he says anyways, ignoring the small, insecure voice in his head. “It’s not too much to ask for, is it?”

 

The question is met with silence as a gold-faced china clock on the wall ticks off the seconds. Alec can feel his back of his neck start to itch when Magnus finally answers. “No. Not too much.” It’s accompanied by a soft smile that the warlock never seems to give out in public, the kind that maybe only a few people have been on the receiving end of. “Not too much at all.” 

 

And suddenly, the realization that  _ Alec _ , of all people, is now privy to this relaxed, candid side of Magnus hits him. It does something ridiculously complex to his stomach, almost like butterflies flapping against his ribcage.

 

Magnus finally puts down the whisky and steps towards Alec. “How is everything at the Institute?” His voice is tentative, like he’s trying to step around something, and Alec wishes it weren’t, because Magnus is never tentative, but he supposes that he has every right to be; after all, from the perspective of an immortal, centuries-old warlock, they probably hardly know each other. One kiss and two weeks do not make up a relationship. 

 

“Fine,” Alec says, and clamps down on a snarky comment about his mother having an aneurysm. He knows what Magnus is really asking, behind the layer of nonchalance that gives both of them an easy way out. “Magnus, about the wedding. I don’t regret it. And I don’t think I would have”—he inhales once, sharply, because there’s no backing out now—“chosen any differently, if I could have.” It’s true, all of it. Standing at the altar as the double doors opened, there was really only one choice, and that was Magnus. 

 

“Alexander. You don’t have to say that. If you want to end this… you’re under no obligation to—” Magnus begins, gesturing animatedly the way that he does when he’s nervous. “I might be the first man to lay a claim on you, but I’m not going to be the only one. I’m sure you could find someone else—” 

 

“That’s not what I meant at all!” The surprise makes his voice more forceful than he had intended. He gentles it, speaking over what Magnus’ stumbling words (and it’s wrong, all wrong, because Magnus Bane does not trip over his words, or sound so vulnerable in front of Alec of all people, who barely deserves it). “You’re  _ you _ , Magnus. You have the whole world at your feet, but it was my wedding you crashed. It was me that you gave a chance.” There’s heat crawling up his cheeks, and he feels pathetic, stripping himself bare like this, but he pushes on anyways, voicing what he had thought only moments ago. “I really only had one choice, and that was you.”

 

The warlock’s fingers twitch, and the half-lit lamps around them flare for a moment before fading back into the shadows. He sighs. “You, Alexander Lightwood, are a marvel.”

 

Alec doesn’t know how to answer that, but he’s spared by Magnus continuing on. “Four hundred years, and you come along.” There’s a hushed pause that somehow feels very significant, and Alec lets it envelope him. “You’ve unlocked something in me.” Magnus repeats it just like that first time; Alec thinks back to a hazy night, all blue and violet with the same warm aura of magic all around. 

 

And yet, that night, he couldn’t have ever imagined this sort of happiness. 

 

That realization, the awareness that he is happy, makes him far bolder than he would have been otherwise. “Is this you being cryptic?” 

 

Magnus’ smile is amused as he remembers what he had said. “It is.” He leans in a little bit closer, his voice taking on a too-casual tone. “Although you are free to assume whatever you want.”

 

Alec mirrors him, taking a step forward. He’s still running on that molten feeling of rare euphoria, and it’s almost dizzying. His mouth at Magnus’ ear, he says, “Then would it be too forward to assume that you would reciprocate if I kissed you now?”

 

Magnus’ eyes widen, and he lets out a slow exhale. “Not too forward at all.” His smile takes on a challenging glint. “Never too forward, Alexander.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispers, and takes Magnus’ hand in one fluid motion. It’s a gesture that mirrors the way that dance partners invite each other onto the floor. In other words, it defines a  _ them _ , a couple. 

 

There’s a ring set with a pair of dull blue stones on Magnus’ index finger, and Alec carefully brings the smooth skin right beyond it to his mouth, placing a kiss there. It’s a small gesture, and yet it feels like the most dangerous thing he’s ever done; holding a match to a flame, hoping against hope that it will catch. 

 

Magnus says nothing, but his pupils flare, and he steps a little bit closer, other hand trailing up Alec’s arm. It’s an invitation, a small offering. Alec doesn’t quite take it yet.

 

“This is the last time I’m going to kiss you for the second time.” He places two fingers on Magnus’ cheek, tracing the angular lines of his cheekbones, the soft skin underneath the jaw before carefully, carefully pulling away to draw him in by the back of the neck. 

 

It is only when they are standing face to face, nearly melded together from shoulder to hip that he murmurs, “I’d better do this properly, don’t you think?” They are so close, only a breath of air between them, and that thought drives Alec wild—the fact that he is allowed to be here, have this—

 

Magnus’ hands flutter in the air for a moment before grounding themselves firmly on Alec’s shoulder and hip, warm and perhaps the least bit hesitant. They stroke the material of his jacket with just the fingertips, a languid, luxurious sort of pressure. Magnus tilts his head just so that his lips brush Alec’s, the barest whisper of a kiss, before Alec leans in properly and Magnus’ mouth is soft against his own.

 

They kiss, and Alec dares to imagine what could be; coming home to this man, having him in his arms, this feeling of wanting and being wanted. And this time, when Magnus asks him to stay, Alec squeezes his hand and says  _ yes, of course _ , because of course he will stay.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [@doctortwelfth](http://doctortwelfth.tumblr.com) and i accept fic requests, constructive criticism and general screaming about fandoms. thanks for reading xx


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